


xoxo

by theamazingbard



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 08:14:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 2,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27600092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theamazingbard/pseuds/theamazingbard
Summary: “What’s your… hm. What’s your favorite kind of kiss?” Jaskier looks up at Geralt, eyes wide and curious. The bard’s head is somehow a familiar weight in his lap, and the hair between Geralt’s fingers is soft and perfumed.(a collection of unrelated, kiss-based drabbles)
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 38
Kudos: 209





	1. wrist

**Author's Note:**

> i got kiss horny on main and this is the result

It’s not often Geralt is the one tending to Jaskier. His wounds are somehow few and far between. But here they are, sitting next to candlelight as Geralt wraps his hand with clean cloth. Blood already turning it red.

“Fuck, it hurts. Should it hurt this much?” Jaskier says, frowning at the wound.

“The palm of the hand is more sensitive than other parts of the body.” Geralt explains. His gaze never leaves Jaskier’s hand.

“Well, that’s shit.” Though it’s better than what could have happened.

Some ignoramus broke into their room tonight, presumably trying to kill Geralt. Such an idiot was he that he didn’t account for the hunt the witcher was on.

Geralt wasn’t in the room when the attacker crept in.

Being half asleep, Jaskier was just able to stop the blade from coming down. Unfortunately, he had caught the blade with his bare hand. It was sharp enough that he didn’t feel pain right away, and close enough that he felt terror rip through him.

He remembers blood dripping down his wrist as though it happened to someone else. He also remembers being brought back to reality by the sudden cracking sound. A moment later, and the bigot was unconscious across the bed.

After Geralt ensured the man would be no more trouble, he returned and ordered Jaskier to sit by the light.

And here they are.

“Well! Thank Melitele you arrived when you did. These hands here are important. They keep us warm, fed, and dry! Talented hands, these are.” Jaskier looks up expecting to see Geralt roll his eyes or snort.

“I know.” The expression he sees is impossible to decipher. Geralt finishes bandaging his hand with a small bow. He doesn’t let go of Jaskier’s hand. Just keeps staring at it. Starts rubbing his thumb up and down over the cloth. The motion is gentle, soothing.

Over the years, Jaskier has trained himself to slow his heartbeat. To mask the extent of his devotion. In this moment, his abilities are failing him. “Geralt?”

The witcher brings Jaskier’s hand upwards, close to his face. Jaskier can feel the heat coming off of him. Then is sure he will burst into flames himself when Geralt presses his lips to his inner wrist. The warmth of it a shock to his system. And when Geralt’s golden gaze moves from the ground to meet his own, he lets out a shuddering breath.

“I’m okay,” He says. “I’m okay. You got there in time. That’s all that matters.”

Geralt nods once. His stubble rubs against the thin skin of Jaskier’s wrist.

Maybe he doesn’t have to hide how he feels after all. He caught a knife in his hand, felt it pierce his palm. Jaskier can be brave here, too.

So he presses his bandaged hand to Geralt’s cheek and slides into his lap.

“ _You_ matter. And I’d bear a hundred wounds, a thousand, if it meant I knew you felt safe sleeping next to me.” He leans in close. The tip of his nose brushes against Geralt’s.

“I know.” Geralt closes the distance. Against Jaskier’s lips he says, “But don’t you fucking dare.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this work is technically complete, but i may add more in the future. who knows? we'll see how this goes  
> this particular drabble was after i got kiss horny on main, esp for wrist kisses and a lovely, lovely anon encouraged me to write about it <3  
> for more drabbles and general tomfoolery, follow me on tumblr @theamazingbard
> 
> xoxo


	2. neck

Some hunts are harder than others. It's almost never the type of monster he's sent to kill. Usually, it’s the people he has to deal with instead. Whether Geralt had to endure their criticisms and prejudice or had to save them (or both), people complicate things.

At the end of it, though, he can find peace.

Peace is camp at night, the warmth of the fire. Peace is a bath and having his hair washed. Peace is hearing the gentle strumming of a lute.

And peace is his arms wrapped around Jaskier. The scent of his hair surrounding him. It’s the beating of Jaskier’s heart. (Two beats per every one of Geralt’s.) Peace is Geralt’s lips pressed to the back of Jaskier’s neck in the dead of night and listening to the gentle hum in response. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a shorter drabble  
> this was inspired by an anonymous ask, as was the last one  
> follow me on tumblr @theamazingbard if you'd like
> 
> xoxo


	3. shoulder

Jaskier has a few freckles. Moles. Beauty marks. Whatever the name, Geralt likes them.

They are scattered across his body.

At night, when Geralt can’t sleep, he counts them.

There are thirty-six.

In the summer, however, there are a few freckles across his nose and shoulders. Geralt likes these, too.

He doesn’t tell Jaskier. Knows that the compliment won't be appreciated. Jaskier complains about them. Something about how it’s a sign of aging. 

Any excuse to complain.

“I mean, look at them! Ugh. Do you think there’s a way to magic them away?” Jaskier frowns, his features twisted comically. They’re lying in bed together. Geralt to the left. (Closest to the door.) Jaskier, the right.

The bard has already stripped himself down to his small clothes. It’s boiling hot, apparently. “Perhaps an ointment? What do you think? Geralt?”

Geralt ignores him, focusing on his notes. The Arachnomorphs acted strangely today before he slayed the beasts. Best to take notes. Compare it with his brothers in the winter.

“He _llo_? Geralt?”

He sighs through his nose. Closes his bestiary. Turns over and hovers above Jaskier. Leans down and presses a kiss to his freckled shoulder. “No ointments.”

Jaskier flushes pink and smiles. “No ointments, _hm_? Do I look pretty to you, Geralt? Would you have me covered in spots.”

Geralt presses another kiss to the same shoulder. A different freckle this time. “Not spots, no.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another anonymous ask. decided to upload two today since they are both short as hell.  
> follow me on tumblr @theamazingbard if you'd like  
> thanks for reading. 
> 
> xoxo


	4. temple, eye, cheek

Geralt is used to the staring. The leering. Fear and loathing, the stink of it hanging in the air. There’s no way to make himself smaller. Less intimidating. 

However, with Jaskier’s songs following him around, the disdain eased somewhat. Not enough that the scent disappeared or the flaring stopped. But it helped.

Whatever progress has been made over the years ends when Geralt feels a claw slash down his face, scarring it from forehead to cheek.

It was only a matter of time, he always knew, before some monster (human or otherwise) left their mark there. He didn’t think it would make a difference.

Geralt should have known better.

Before the scar even begins to heal, people act as though they did before Toss a Coin was written. Even when Jaskier sings his entire catalogue about Geralt. It doesn’t matter to him.

This, too, was only a matter of time. Songs only last for so long. People don’t change.

After a particularly long night, Geralt and Jaskier retreat to their room. It’s smaller than usual. Musty.

Again, Jaskier checks on his wound. There’s nothing left to do. The skin has already healed, the skin there pink. He sighs. Focuses on the shoddy hardwood floor. It’s fine.

Unexpected, though perhaps it shouldn’t be, is the press of lips to his forehead. Under his eye. His cheek. “My witcher,” Jaskier says, leaning back a little. His left hand cradles Geralt’s cheek. “Don’t fret. I’ve a new song on your bravery.” Jaskier smiles, so sure. Confident. Why? “Allow me to do my work. It’ll make yours easier once again. And besides, who doesn’t love a rugged hero?”

Geralt only cares for the opinion of a few. Only needs their affections.

Only his lips upon his face, unperturbed by the scars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this prompt was sent by @racheld93 on tumblr   
> thanks for reading and commenting! 
> 
> xoxo


	5. knee

Geralt closes his eyes. Focuses on the feeling of warm legs on either side of him and gentle fingers combing through his hair. The sun on his face.

Behind him, Jaskier is humming some tune. It’s a new song. He stops and starts every once in a while. By now, Geralt is used to the process. Strange how it’s come to feel like home.

“There! All done!” Jaskier pulls his fingers out of Geralt’s hair. He’s leaning back, probably to admire his work. “Practical for you and pretty for me! A perfect compromise, if I do say so myself.”

Carefully, Geralt runs his fingers over the braids. Two on each side of his head, ending in a ponytail in the back. He suspects that if there were any flowers nearby, Jaskier would have gladly weaved them into the braids.

“It’s not too tight, is it?”

“No.” The only complaint he has is that it's over. If only he still had Jaskier’s deft fingers running against his scalp once more. “It’s good.” Instead, he moves his clever hands to Geralt’s shoulders and starts to massage them.

Content, he turns his head and presses a kiss to Jaskier’s knee. He feels the soft puff of breath against his neck. A laugh. This, too, feels like home.


	6. mouth (to mouth)

Geralt can admit that it isn’t his greatest escape plan. But being pushed back towards the waterfall, there are few other options for him and Jaskier to escape alive. 

Rocks tumble over the side into the rushing white waters. He should have known what the angry mob was doing. Should have guessed it. Shit. And now, he and Jaskier are standing at the world’s edge with no where to go.

Geralt looks towards the trees, can already see the crowd of 30 gaining on them. 

“Geralt, think of something, will you!” Jaskier’s voice is a shrill thing in his ears. Fear wafts off of him, though less so than an average human. He's durable, can handle more. 

It is this reason that he grabs hold of the bard and throws the both of them over the cliff. 

Falling from this height is more terrifying than Geralt anticipated. It's nearly impossible to control anything about the situation beyond preparing himself for the inevitable fall. Beside him, Jaskier is screaming.

The drop lasts only a moment before they plunge into the icy cold water. 

There is no sense of direction. No up or down. Nothing to indicate where the fuck they are.

His only tether is to Jaskier, whom he refuses to let go of. He will _not_ lose him in the rush of the river. 

It’s a fight to the surface, with his armor and his friend, but there have been more difficult battles. The next problem is swimming to the _damn shore._ The rocks are slippery and Jaskier refuses to help. He's limp, probably in shock.

He’ll deal with that later. 

Finally, he pulls them both ashore. Geralt gasps for air. For a moment, all he can do is lay on his back and look at the sky. His gaze shifts from the bright blue of it to the top of the cliff. There are no signs on the angry crowd. He can’t properly hear them with the rushing water. Even if the mob were to come after them, they will have plenty of time to make their escape. 

“Jaskier,” Geralt calls out, his voice scratchy. They should dry off. Get going. Figure out a plan on how to get their belongings back. He turns his head to the side, waiting for the inevitable wave of complaints. 

Silence. 

“Jaskier.” He sits up, discomfort and discombobulation forgotten. The quiet rings in his ears. The bard is _always_ making noise. Singing, humming, tapping. His heart beating. But now, his lungs are quiet in the orchestra that makes up Jaskier. 

Geralt scrambles over to Jaskier’s side and turns him over. His head lolls, but he’s still alive. His heart is still beating, albeit weakly. There’s still time to fix this. Panic, alien and intrusive, has to be pushed down and away. 

There’s a trick Geralt learned many years ago in Skellige. Something about… pulling the water from someone’s lungs. He’s never had the use for it before now. Tries to remember all of the specifics. 

He tilts back Jaskier’s head, pries open his mouth, pinches his nose, and then leans down to breathe air into his lungs. 

Geralt can see from the corner of his eye Jaskier’s chest rise and fall with each breath. Does that mean it’s working? He continues regardless. (This can’t be the end.) Almost dizzy from lack of oxygen on his own, Geralt raises his head and takes a deep breath before returning to Jaskier. 

It’s with this shared air that Jaskier finally sputters to life, turning to his side and expelling river water. He coughs violently, his voice rasping. Relief floods Geralt. He is going to have to thank Crach an Craite one of these days. 

He’ll have to visit Skellige again. (Go to the coast?) 

Now that Jaskier is okay, Geralt has little idea what to do with his hands. He places one on Jaskier’s shoulder. Runs his thumb back and forth in what he hopes to be a comforting motion. “Jaskier?” 

Jaskier rolls onto his back and closes his eyes. Taps his fingers against his chest. Breathes. Then, “Did- did I-” Another cough. “Did I imagine things… or did you just kiss me back to life?” 

Geralt removes his hand from Jaskier’s shoulder and frowns. “That is not what happened.” 

Jaskier, the bastard, opens a single eye. Shining with mischief. Geralt wants to wipe that smirk off of his face. “So you didn’t put your mouth on my mouth?” 

“That’s not how that _works_.” 

“True love’s kiss, what a beautiful thing!” 

“Jaskier.” Geralt looks away, unable to withstand the joy Jaskier is exuding. “We have to _go_.” 

“Truly, Geralt, I wasn’t sure you had it in you. And here we are! Me, alive and… well, not kicking yet. You may have to carry me. Or, oh! Why not kiss me again? If one kiss brings me back from the brink of death, _surely_ -”

“ _Jaskier_ -” This is neither the time or place to talk of… such things. He takes a deep breath in slowly. “Just. Shut the fuck up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omg this was so embarrassingly under edited on my tumblr reading it again was just. a nightmare. hope y'all like it now that it's not a meSS
> 
> xoxo


	7. favorites

“What’s your… hm. What’s your favorite kind of kiss?” Jaskier looks up at Geralt, eyes wide and curious. The bard’s head is somehow a familiar weight in his lap, and the hair between Geralt’s fingers is soft and perfumed.

And now this.

“I have no preference.”

Jaskier scoffs and laughs. “I don’t know why I expected something different. Truly. That’s my fault.”

Geralt raises a brow. “Does it matter?”

“Yes, actually!” Jaskier waves his hand in the air. “I’d like to make sure my lover is happy and satisfied in all areas of this-” More hand waving. This time it’s between Jaskier and himself. “Relationship.”

Geralt turns the word over in his mind. “Is that what this is?”

His answer is met with an eye roll. “Obviously. Do not give me that confused witcher face. You will not distract me. Back to the pressing issue: kisses. Your favorite.”

“Jaskier-”

“Give me an idea! A clue. Here.” He sits up, faces Geralt, and crosses his legs. “Wrist?” Jaskier takes his arm and kisses his inner wrist. “Palm?” Warm lips press to his hand. “Finger tips?” Each of his fingers on his right hand are kissed. “Am I even close?”

Geralt doesn’t say anything. Can’t find the words.

Jaskier groans. “Okay. Okay. I’ll figure this out. Let it be known that Jaskier never gives up!” He leans forward, into Geralt’s space and kisses his neck. “I know for a _fact_ you like this. But is it a favorite?” Upwards, towards his ear. “Here, perhaps?”

Gently, Geralt pushes him back. Just enough so that he can see his face properly. “I have no preference, Jask,” He repeats. “No favorite kiss. Only where they come from.”

A lovely shade of red colors Jaskier’s cheeks.

What follows is an affectionate assault from his favorite kisser.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry i left u hanging there for a couple of days. anyway, this is technically the last chapter! but if u wanna send me prompts or see more geraskier bullshit in general, u know where to find me <3 
> 
> xoxo

**Author's Note:**

> this work is technically complete, but i may add more in the future. who knows? we'll see how this goes
> 
> for more drabbles and general tomfoolery, follow me on tumblr @theamazingbard
> 
> xoxo


End file.
